


When the Madness Sunk In

by spacedragonarmada



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Season0, Season 0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedragonarmada/pseuds/spacedragonarmada
Summary: A pondering/headcanon/thought about when exactly Atem went from pharaoh to the gremlin of season 0. If the shattering of his mind was not while he was in the tomb, but in the years it took for Yugi to complete the puzzle.
Relationships: Atem/Mutou Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	When the Madness Sunk In

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I keep losing this fic so I'm posting it here so I stop losing it. Copy pasted from phone, no beta.

[ ](https://twitter.com/RussianNiko/status/1348820839941066756)

Bound as a disembodied spirit to a shattered pendant in the realm of the living for 3000 years wasn't as lonely as one might have expected.

They had spared no expense on his tomb, the hieroglyphics on the wall retelling bits and pieces of a life he did not remember, but clung to in some vague sense of self.

Perhaps his existence was akin to having dementia. The days he woke up outside the pendant were spent mulling over the walls, rebuilding himself and his form to that of a pharaoh. He'd reenact the stories on the walls in his mind, played games with the shadows, filled in the gaps with various ideas and be content with the imaginary friends he presumed were once real.

Exhaustion would eventually take over and his form would fade, returning to the shattered remains sitting inside a small golden sarcophagus box where his memories of the day would soon fade too.

Sometimes there had been visitors. At least in the beginning. Exactly how long ago that had been he couldn't be certain.

But there had been others. Those who, at the time, he recalled as some of the characters named on the wall.

It was always on the days he hadn't the strength to manifest in front of them. He wished to reach out, to tell them he was here, watching over them, glad to see them despite his failed memory.

In the back of his mind he knew they knew. Knew that he had been bound here, trapped and unable to move on. The name Aaru fell off his tongue but he couldn't remember it's significance.

He appreciated his precious few visitors telling him their names. His own was something not even his tomb would tell him, scratched out from the farthest wall.

He promised himself he'd remember their names. Hold onto them like a lifeline, but the gods had different plans and sure enough, when he awoke the next time, the walls would teach him again.

After his companions had stopped coming, a strange kind of loneliness did manifest at the back of his mind. It was a curious thing. Waking with no memory in what was the closest thing to groundhog day, it seemed odd that the feeling would be there at all.

It wasn't as if he could spend any longer period outside of the puzzle... pendant, it was a pendant he reminded himself; but something in his heart told him he'd been here a while, with nothing but the comfort of the walls to keep him sane.

Occasionally he'd hear screaming in the distance. The sound for all intents and purposes should have been concerning, but the spirit found himself unaffected.  
Once? Maybe twice? he'd searched the walls for an answer to why it didn't bother him.

His ghostly hand brushed over the walls who's text had become foreign to him. A depiction of what he couldn't assume was himself with his companions judging thieves? Criminals? Lead him to the deduction they were probably grave robbers.

Graverobbers deserved their fate he thought and the surge of deep rooted determination inclined him to believe he was correct.

Not that he was aware of the date, but some 2992 years into his imprisonment everything would change.

There were screams. That wasn't unusual. But they were closer this time. They felt closer than any screams had been in a while.

Curiously the spirit peered outside his prison only to find a familiar face. The name stuck in his throat but his soul seemed to yearn for the man.

The man who had walked into his tomb and overcome the traps he could only assume lay beyond the bridge. The man who collapsed following an almighty sound he'd never heard before.

Monsters rose from the bridge that linked him to the rest of his tomb, devouring the man who held a smoking object he could only assume the sound had come from.  
The familiar man lost his balance, desperately clutching the side of the bridge and the spirit force himself into material form, reaching out his hand.

"I've been waiting for you Shimon"

The name fell off his tongue like a pleasant memory. His cape billowed despite a nonexistent breeze.

The man, Solomon, took his hand as he pulled the other back to the safety of the bridge.

A hundred questions pressed against his mind but before he could ask as single one of them his spirit gave out. Exhausting itself in its manifestation and retreating back to his puzzle.

In the distance he could hear Shimon's voice, talking in a foreign tongue he did not recognize. He wanted to ask the older man to stay with him so he may converse about times of old upon awakening.

That desire would go unheard, his protests falling on deaf ears as the other uprooted him from his pedestal. The feeling unfamiliar and unwelcome as the pieces of the puzzle were shifted in the box. The pleasant lull of sleep that he knew came at the end of each day suddenly fierce and menacing.

Clawing at him like a savage beast, the light of his tomb, his home, his safety being fading into the distance.

The spirit screamed to be returned, it was the only place he knew, but still the man would not hear his cries. Why would Shimon betray him like this? Was this man even Shimon? It was becoming more and more apparent he couldn't trust his own memories and that thought scared him.

For eight years the spirit did not sleep. Refused to let himself sleep. The one time he'd given in to the temptation he'd been rewarded with the darkness tearing what little remained of him apart.

Time seemed to be moving, longer than he recalled it being, perhaps because he wasn't sleeping. He could not recall feeling so restless. Brief flickers of /something/ reminding him that he wasn't supposed to be here.

A vague memory of warmth and light before tormented his mind. He tried to hold on but the darkness overwhelmed him.

A labyrinth presented itself before him. Just as broken just as he was. The paths would change from time to time as if some external force was moving him around.  
He hated it, he wanted out.

The doors offer him nothing but disembodied laughter and claws that threatened to tear his remaining cognition apart.

The darkness was winning.

He could no longer recall the room that felt like home. He could no longer recall the face to which he offered his hand. He could no longer recall the person who took him away.

Anger festered within him.

Anger, sadness, and betrayal; it was bitter in his mouth, heavy on his tongue.

There was a gash along his knuckles from what he can only assume was taking out his anger on the wall, but the wall was no longer there, shifting once more.

The day the labyrinth shifted at an alarming rate, the spirit lost his footing. Caught up in the whirlwind of pieces falling into place. He didn't know where his body ended and the darkness began only that it seemed to center in on his being, the labyrinth closing in around him until finally, it settled in a room.

A room without a door, he noticed once the world stopped spinning.

That was a lie, there were many doors here. Always had been. But none of which lead to an escape, he knew that for fact.

But the void in the far corner of the main 'room' if it could even be called a room, stared ominously at him as it tempting him to step forward.

With nothing left to lose, the spirit took that step.

And the next one. And the next one.

He thought for a moment the labyrinth was mocking him. Giving him a false sense of hope to escape under the illusion of an exit before ripping it away and laughing in his face. The shadows were merciless like that.

But as he approached the labyrinth did not pull away, it let him approach and observe the shroud of darkness.

Hesitantly he raised a hand, pressed forward into the dark and was surprised to find it touch something solid.

As the darkness dispersed it left behind a door unlike anything the spirit had seen in the labyrinth before.

In fear of the door vanishing, the spirit gripped the handle, tore it open with all his might. The result was blinding. A brilliant light so warm and comforting he thought it would strip him of the darkness in his soul.

He pressed forward, one foot after the other, desperate to discover whatever lay beyond the cold stone walls of the labyrinth that housed him for so long.

What he hadn't expected was the burning in his lungs. The thrum of his heart. Beating loudly, so very loudly in his chest. There were sounds, so many foreign sounds he hadn't heard before. Outside, distant, muffled through the walls.

Blinking rapidly the spirit begged his mind to register where he was. He felt dizzy.

There were clothes on his body, tight enough he thought he was being mummified.

An onslaught of memories and terms flooded his mind. Louder than whatever made the noises outside- cars, his mind supplied. Cars driving along at tarmac streets in the middle of the night.

It was then the spirit finally realised, he was _alive_.

It was dizzying, but at the same time immensely satisfying, _relieving_ , the world was so warm outside of the labyrinth.

The weight around his neck hummed and upon inspection the spirit recognized his puzzle restored to its former glory. Taking stock of the body it was attached to it didn't take long to put two and two together he'd acquired a host. And what a wonderful host he was, allowing the spirit access to easily to this body.

Rising from the seat, the spirit took a moment to remember how to walk; familiarized himself with the room around him and let the being at the back of his mind supply him with the details he needed to survive. The world looked very different. Not that he could recall what the world /should/ look like, but he could feel it in his soul.

Once the dizziness had stopped the the memories tapered down to a pleasant hum, feeling more like his own than those of someone else, he noted rather startlingly, that his host had been attacked.

 _Bullied_. His mind supplied and the spirit wrote it off as the same thing.

Still, he wanted to thank his host of gifting him this body, intentionally or not, and decided to return the favour. He'd deal with this bully and keep his host's body safe.

The man who bullied his host was a pitiful one, governed by greed and easily lured into a game. A shadow game as his soul cried out. Judge the man and punish him for his crimes. It all felt so natural, the darkness an extension of his existence.

He did not kill the man, as the shadows cried out for the harshest punishment. The law of the land differed to the one his soul screamed for, so he compromised. Watched the man squirm in his blissful illusion of paper currency that amounted to nothing more than leaves and garbage.

His soul felt more satisfied than it had done in years, but it was also exhausted. The spirit hadn't accounted for the toll using his power would take on his body, ejecting him back into the labyrinth as soon as he'd returned to his host's residence.

Once more he was greeted by the cold stone, but now it did not move. Content on staying in its maze like array of stairs and doors leading every which way except to an exit.

For the first time this room did not invoke fear. The shadows did not scare him. They hung back quietly behind the doors, seemingly afraid of the light beyond the iron door that lead him to his momentary freedom.

With renewed energy, the spirit... yami... he decided to call himself, wandered back towards the ominous door.

Better prepared to light the dwelled behind it, yami took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust as the door slowly creaked open.

Outside of his door was a hallway, narrow enough to provide little barrier between one wall and the other, but large enough for two people to stand side by side.

To his left and right was the darkness he was familiar with, most likely a drop into the void for anyone careless enough to wander it. Opposite though, was a curious thing. Another door.

It wasn't so much the existence of the door that was curious, it was how light if was in comparison to his own. Light, and welcoming. Yami had no doubt this was the door to the individual who's body he now shared.

Yugi, the darkness seemed to answer him.

Curiosity got the better of him and, assuming the other soul was back in control, yami decided to cross that hallway and explore the room.

If his own soul's room was dark and cold like the grave, his host's was bright and warm. Various toys, books, and games lay scattered across the floor, threatening to spill into the hallway.

Yami was careful not to disturb anything as he invaded his host's room. While he did not fear the other soul, it would be a lie to say he did not know the extent of his power and means of preservation should the other reject him. No, at least for now, yami would remain in the shadows. Keep his host safe until he learnt enough to assimilate into this new world.

His soul however, was not satisfied with a mere look into the room and the spirit soon found himself draw to the bed where a small spiritual orb rested just above the sheets.

Yami regarded the orb curiously, deciding it was probably the soul of yugi, undefined in the soul room he probably didn't even know existed.

Against his better judgement, yami found his hand reaching out to brush against the soul. It was warm, /homely/, a startling feeling he had not been prepared for. Why did this soul make him feel so complete?

Yami's breath caught and he bit his lip as the light trembled and morphed into the shape of the sleeping host.

He felt his spiritual heart race, freezing in place and anxiously awaiting to see if the boy would wake up.

To his relief the boy simply slept on.

It was only then that the spirit realised, his own spirit had some kind of definition. The full length mirror across the room reflected a near mirror image of the sleeping boy in yami minus a few features. His hair was wilder, gold fringe spiked haphazardly, and a sharper expression. He realised his body was dressed in the same attire as when he'd been piloting the body. It looked good on his body, familiar, but also foreign. Like this he could pass for the boy so long as he played his cards right.

Then again, if played his cards right, yugi needn't even know he existed. It was probably the safest way for him to exist.

Co-inhabit the body, protect yugi when he needed protection, and explore the labyrinth of his mind in his spare time. Perhaps with time he would unravel the mystery of why the other felt like... a part of him, and what lay beyond the darkness of the doors in his mind.

After 3000 years of imprisonment, Yami was finally free, and with yugi at his side, no one was going to take that away from him again. 


End file.
